


Bouncing Back

by Kaijuscientists



Series: Fictober 2019 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fever, Fever Dreams, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, Whump, Whumptober 2019, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-14 00:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaijuscientists/pseuds/Kaijuscientists
Summary: After the Almost Apocalypse, Crowley is wrung out, physically and emotionally, he was bound to crash and burn eventually.





	Bouncing Back

**Author's Note:**

> Another entry for whumptober! Prompts : delirium and fever

Crowley wakes up feeling like shit, to put it lightly. squinting at his phone, it’s only been two days since they successfully swapped bodies and tricked their respective sides. He feels like garbage, and he can’t even fall back asleep. No amount of tossing and turning lets him shake the deep feeling of unease. After a while, he drags himself out of bed, figuring if he can’t sleep he can at least bother Aziraphale. 

————————-

Crowley collapses onto the old settee Aziraphale keeps in the back room, splaying his legs in front of him as he slouches down. Said angel is sitting in his usual arm chair, talking animatedly about something. Crowley doesn’t have the energy to keep up with or parse the conversation. 

He watches the angel, who is gesturing wildly enough his tea should have spilled (it’s stayed politely in his cup), through eyelids that feel like they weigh a ton. 

How can he can still be going, so energetically, after the week they just had, Crowley wonders. His gaze drifts until he’s staring off in the distance. Having Aziraphale close has taken the edge off, but he still feels like something is wrong but he can’t quite put his finger on it, can barely think on it when it’s a fight just to keep his eyelids open. 

He nearly falls from his seat when he feels the cushion dip next to him, his glasses are plucked from his face. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, concerned coloring his voice. It was not lost on him that Crowley was not quite present. “Are you alright?”

“Wha..? M’fine.” Crowley has a far away look in his eye, kind of spaced out. And maybe it was a trick of the light, but he appeared flushed, just a bit. Rosy across the cheeks in a way he normally wasn’t.

“You weren’t answering me.” Aziraphale say, setting the sunglasses on the table. “I said your name several times.” When he reaches out to touch him, Crowley makes a valiant effort to avoid him. But he’s slouching to far down, jostled even lower by his scare, that he doesn’t get very far, Aziraphale’s palm pressing to his forehead anyway. 

The skin under his hand is burning, so much that he jerks away. 

“You’re hot.” He says with shock. 

“I know angel.” He says with a smirk, but there not much feeling behind it.

“That’s not what I mean.” he balks, hand once again reaching to touch, this time settling on his cheek. “You’re burning, you have a fever”

“I’m a demon, I run hot.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Your corporation has a fever, you’re ill.”

Celestial and occult brings, as a general rule didn’t get sick. But a human corporation, even one inhabited by a celestial beinf, could, so there was a small possibility of it happening. Aziraphale had only been ill himself a handful of times over the millennia. He wasn’t sure if Crowley had before, but he certainly was now. 

“Just need a nap, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed, he knew for a fact that the days the demon had spent at his flat were spent asleep.

“Would you like to lie down here?” He offers, instead of calling him out on it. 

Crowley nods with a yawn, stretching his arms over head, barely holding back the wince when the motion pulls at sore muscles.

“Make yourself comfortable, i’ll be right back.”

Crowley stretches out on the overstuffed settee, head resting on a plush arm and feet dangling over the other. The added warmth and weight of a quilt, bless Aziraphale, is enough to put him out. 

———————-

Aziraphale watches Crowley sleep for a few hours, shivering and curling into himself, looking genuinely miserable. He had even chanced a quick miracle, changing the demon into a pair of his own pajamas, hoping he’d feel better in something more comfortable. When nothing helped he decided enough was enough. 

“Crowley, dear.” Azriaphale shakes Crowley’s Shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

“Wha’ sit?” Heavy eyelids open, words slurring together as he pushes himself up into what might be considered an upright position. Looking around, he is thoroughly confused, it takes him a full minute to remember that he’d taken a nap at Aziraphale’s 

“Feeling any better?”

When he thinks about it, he realizes that he’s shivering, the quilt having slid down when he became more vertical. His head feels like it’s full of cotton, and his whole body ached. “No m’not.” 

“I thought so,” Aziraphale says, his level of concern rising, if the demon felt bad enough to admit it out loud, it was definitely bad. 

He checks Crowley’s emperature, back of his hand pressing to his cheek, then his forehead. “Your temperature has definitely gone up a little.” He says to himself absentmindedly. He needs supplies and a plan. 

“M’tired, angel.” Crowley sighs, slumping back down to lay on the settee. 

“Go back to sleep, dear.” He says distractedly as he mentally puts together a list of items he might need. He tucks the quilt around the sick demon and gets up. 

Crowley listens to the angel moving around the shop, then he hears the bells above the door chime, the click of the lock echoing through the shop. 

Suddenly he feels very lonely. 

Was his angel just going to abandon him when he needed him? pulling the blanket up over his head, he smothers a sad wet sniffle in the confines of his cocoon. He should just go back to his flat, maybe he’d just sleep until whatever it this was passed. ‘Yeah I’ll do that,’ he tells himself, even as his eyes slip closed and his breathing evens out. 

—————-

The next time Crowley wakes, it’s to gentle coaxing, Aziraphale’s fingers combing softly through the short strands of his hair. He blinks up a few times at the angel through half lidded eyes, warmth blossoming in his chest that has nothing to do with his fever. He gives his angel a tired and lopsided smile, and his eyes fall closed again. 

“No, no, need you to sit up.” Aziraphale says, wedging an arm under his shoulders to lift him. “There you are,” Crowley lets himself be manhandled without so much as a grumble. 

“These should help get your fever down.” Aziraphale explains, gently taking Crowley’s hand and placing a couple white tablets. “You have to swallow them.”

Crowley pops the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry. 

“Well that was easier than expected,” he says quietly to himself. 

“How about some tea?“ He asks softly, his hand resting on Crowley’s thigh.“ Crowley shrugs, he doesn’t really feel like drinking anything at the moment. But Aziraphale is fussy and a moment later he’s pressing a hot mug into his hands, whether he wants it or not. “There's a good boy.”

“Though you left.” Crowley rasps, his throat aching. He takes a sip of steaming tea and winces, the heat doing nothing to soothe. 

“Just had to get a few things for you, dear.” He says, straightening up the clutter from the table, most of which were the items he’d picked up for taking care of sick demon. 

“Ss’fine, if you need too.” He says, his voice a low, hoarse whisper that still pains him. It pains him more, to tell the angel he can go, the last thing he wants is Aziraphale to leave him. But even more than that, he doesn’t want to be a burden. “Leave, that isss, do thingsss.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures the demon. “Drink your tea, then you can go back to sleep.”

——————-

Aziraphale is doing his best to keep Crowley medicated. He tries to keep the fever under control, cursing himself for not buying a thermometer. But it just doesn’t want to let him go, raging on. 

It’s been three days since the fever took hold, and It’s only gotten harder to wrestle pills into Crowley, harder to make him drink even a sip of water. Even more so when he becomes delirious, and doesn’t hear a word Aziraphale says. He’s not even sure he’s actually seeing him when his eyes are open. 

Aziraphale sits with him the whole time, keeping a damp cloth upon his forehead, wiping down his chest in an effort to keep him cool, ease what discomfort he can. He’s beginning to worry about the possibility of discorporation, and it terrifies him. 

Aziraphale is not prepared when Crowley starts to dream. 

“No….” he croaks, writhing under the blanket. “Nonono.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale soothes, rushing to kneel next to the couch. “Dear, it’s alright.”

“Angel, no...” Crowley cries, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Don’t leave me… no no no.”

“I’m right here.” Aziraphale says, his heart shattering, hand running through Crowley’s hair. The demons eyes open instantly at his touch, eyes wide and afraid. 

Crowley gasps a broken sound that might be Aziaphale’s name, wild and uncoordinated hands paw at his cardigan. 

Aziraphale gently catches his floundering hands, lowering them to rest on his chest. He holds them there, rubbing gently over the knuckles with his thumbs. “I’m here.”

“No.” Crowley says, shaking his head weakly, sinking back into his pillow. ”S’not real. You’re not real.”

“Dear,” he says sadly, heart hurting. There was only one event that Crowley could be dreaming about, and it hurt that he was reliving it just barely a week after it had happened. “I promise that was just a dream. I am here with you.” He soothes one hand through Crowley’s hair, hoping the familiar action would calm him. 

“Angel.” Crowley sobs, voice cracking with grief. “S’not fair.” He leans into Aziraphale’s touch, heaving a deep, shuddering breath as the angel combs through his hair. Crowley fights sleep, afraid of losing this Aziraphale, real or not. 

“Please, rest, I promise I will still be here when you wake up.” Crowley’s incoherent rambling fills the silence of the room. Aziraphale answers with comforting words, kneeling on the floor despite his aching knees, until Crowley finally sleeps, his mumbles tapering off to soft snores. 

—————-

Crowley is delirious for almost a full 24 hours before the fever finally breaks. The relief he feels when Crowley is finally able to relax, when he can finally sleep peacefully is palpable. Like a weight has been lifted from his chest. 

He had miracles Crowley into fresh pajamas, made sure his pillows we’re comfortable, and finally tucks him in with his favorite quilt. 

Collapsing into his favorite armchair, he watches the demon sleep for several hours, hesitant to take his eyes from him even for a second, just in case anything else happens. 

He eventually picks up a nearby book, making half an attempt to read. But after reading the same page over and over again, he gives up that charade, unable to concentrate on the words. He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to the peacefully sleeping demon.  
—————-

Crowley’s journey to consciousness is a lot smoother and a lot more voluntary this time around. He’s still a little sore, and a lot tired, but he doesn’t feel as if he’d been run through a meat grinder anymore, so he has that going for him.

He’s surprised to find that he’s still in Aziraphale’s back room, tucked in with Aziraphale’s favorite quilt and a soft pillow under his head. 

He tentatively stretches out his legs, smiling when his feet down hang off the edge anymore, Aziraphale  
must have miracled the seat longer for him. 

Speaking of which, where is his angel?

“‘Ziraphale?” He calls out, wincing at the rasp of his own voice, a hoarse, broken whisper more than anything else. Raising a hand to touch his throat, he listens for any hint that the angel is in the bookshop, but he doesn’t hear anything.

Sitting up he realizes that he’s wearing pajamas now. Soft blue flannel that screamed Aziraphale. He had definitely laid down in his own clothes though, and has no memory of changing. 

He clears his throat and tries to call once more. “Angel?” 

He flinches when said angel suddenly enters the room.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale manages to put all the relief he felt into his name. “You would manage to wake up the moment I step away, wouldn’t you?”

“Thought you’d gone.”

“Just making tea, would you like some?” He offers quickly, . ”Or I can get you something to eat? You’ve been sick for a week, you should probably eat something.”

Before he can get a word in, Aziraphale sits next to him and presses a mug into his hands, the tea he’d made for himself, and he’s looking at him expectantly. So he drinks. this time it’s very soothing on his raw throat. “Thank you, angel, this is fine.”

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep after your fever finally broke.” At the mention of the fever, Aziraphale leans forward, pressing his hand to his cheek then to his forehead, to reassure himself the illness was passing. “I was prepared to settle in for the long haul, so to speak.”

“Wait, You’ve…” Crowley’s asks, blinking in surprise. ”You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Well yes, of course.” Aziraphale says, like it’s the most obvious thing. What else would he have done. ”I couldn’t just let sort that out on your own, you weren’t even coherent for a few days there.”

“You could have just popped me back to my flat.” Crowley says, sipping his tea. “I would have been fine.”

“That would have been irresponsible,” Aziraphale gasps in shock. “You could have discorporated, and I would never forgive myself.”

“Naaaah, this happens if I over exert myself on miracles.” Crowley explains, draining the mug and setting it on the coffee table. He’d simply been too worn out to bounce back without some kind of consequence. ”Stopping time, holding the Bentley together. M’sure swapping didn’t help either.”

“Well, I wasn’t about to abandon you, what kind of friend would do that.” Aziraphale says softly, looking at Crowley with a look that was somehow even softer and Crowley’s is stunned speechless. 

“May I?” He asks, reaching over to wrap his quilt around Crowley shoulders. “Don’t want your to catch a chill, you’re still recovering.”

“Thank you, angel.” Crowley mumbles quickly, he can feel his cheeks getting warm. A blush creeping over his entire face, Aziraphale’s love threatening to overwhelm him in the best way.


End file.
